


And this is how it starts

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, X-factor AU kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 04:25:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4592784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Talent show AU. Louis isn't a singer but he'll do anything if he gets bored enough. It has nothing to do with that nuisance with the curls who works at the bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And this is how it starts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harrrrrryandlouis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrrrrryandlouis/gifts).



It’s after 11 and Louis isn’t sure how many drinks he’s had but he can’t stop laughing—and even Niall isn’t that funny, even if he’s still wearing that stupid Oliver Twist hat of his after an hour inside the bar. He feels good. He feels loose, buoyant, crackling like electricity in the air on a hot summer’s night, like he could snap into lighting at any moment. He’s the funniest, best looking person in this bar, probably.

 

All of a sudden everyone around him started applauding and Louis was confused for a second until he remembered oh yeah, someone was just performing. It was open mic night at their favorite bar, McKenney’s. Nothing much else was on that weekend, so they—he and Zayn and Niall, his roommates—had gone to get sloshed and laugh at the sad saps that fancied themselves the next undiscovered Adele or Sam Smith. So far they had been pretty disappointed—there hadn’t been any complete disasters. Well, none he remembered, anyway.

 

“Hey,” spoke Niall loudly, directly into Louis’ ear. Louis cringed away dramatically, swatting at his friend. They were just in a bar, he wasn’t deaf, for fuck’s sake. “You should get up there!” Niall inclined his head toward the stage.

 

Louis barked out a laugh.

 

“Seriously, Tommo,” said Niall, warming to his idea. “I dunno if you think it’s soundproof or what, but we’ve both heard you belting out Ed Sheeran in the shower,” he gestured between himself and Zayn. “You’re not half bad.”

 

As an afterthought, he muttered to Zayn, mistakenly thinking it subtle enough that Louis wouldn’t hear, “Not interested in a relationship, my arse. No one gets that into ‘Thinking Out Loud’ if they haven’t fantasized about their wedding…”

 

“Ignoring this blatant invasion of privacy,” Louis began, leveling them with a Look, “I will not be gracing this fine audience with my talent. Not this stage, not this night, boys. Now if you don’t mind, I need a wee.” He pushed back from the table abruptly and stood up. His head swam for a moment, but then his vision cleared and he was pleased to find he felt remarkably fine.

 

Louis walked away from their table to the sound of Niall’s booing and Zayn’s high-pitched giggle. He was one of the few people Louis had ever encountered who laughed with a discernible “ha ha ha!” that was goofily discordant with his whole troubled model aesthetic. It was maybe Louis’ favorite thing about him. He liked someone with a dumb laugh.

 

The next person had taken the stage and was strumming the opening chords of an acoustic cover of “Wrecking Ball.” Making his way to the toilets, Louis found himself humming along, thinking they were alright but were staying a little too true to the original. It had actually been a long time since he was last on stage, in his high school’s production of Grease. There was something about the blinding glare of the lights, knowing the audience was there but not being able to see them, really, that got him buzzing with adrenaline. He shook off his hands after washing them and wiped them on his trousers, thinking maybe…why not? Everyone was so drunk, no one was likely to remember if he made a fool of himself.

 

A few minutes later, Louis had spoken to the stage hand—a buff, clean cut type with a cool forearm tat Louis was tempted to ask about, if he ever saw him again—and confirmed that they had the appropriate back-up track, and then the person singing was finishing up and the audience was clapping again and the Louis was stepping out on stage.

 

Uh…oh, shit, he thought. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sudden glare, suddenly conscious again of just how much he’d had to drink.

 

“Hi,” he said into the mic. It screeched. He leaned back a few inches and cleared his throat. “Um, I’m Louis and this is Wonderwall.” There was silence in the crowd. “Not really,” he laughed, a little awkwardly, “I’m only joking.” That earned a few chuckles from those actually paying attention and sober enough to get the joke. To be fair, it wasn’t a great one. “I’m Louis and this goes out to a twat named Niall.”

 

The opening notes of “Just Haven’t Met You Yet” played out over the speakers, and Louis heard a delighted cackle from the back of the audience before he launched into the song.

 

His voice was rusty at first—it really had been a long time since he’d sang, barring his private shower performances, and he could feel it graveling its way out of his throat, cracking a little as he sang, “I’ve broken my heart so many times I’ve stopped keeping track”—but by the time he reached the first chorus it smoothed out and Louis was feeling his old comfort on stage come back to him. A smile pulled at his lips as he belted out the chorus (“I promise you kid that I’ll give so much more than I get, I just haven’t met you yet”), and he pressed a hand to his tummy to go earnest and sweet as the song slowed down into the bridge.

 

As the song built back up toward the end, people in the crowd were standing up and clapping and along and Louis really hammed it up, pulling the mic out of his stand and walking up to the front of the stage, pointing theatrically toward where Niall was sitting (he couldn’t actually see him, as such) and serenading the last lines straight to his dumb, hatted head. When the music faded and the crowd exploded into the loudest round of applause he’d heard all night, Louis couldn’t help but laugh with exhilaration. He’d forgotten how much fun that was, how the adrenaline and the applause went straight to his head, giving him a heady rush like a shot of tequila, making him feel like he could do anything.

 

Louis was walking off stage, focused on making his way through the now rowdy crowd back to Zayn and Niall, when he bumped into someone in his path.

 

“Sorry, mate,” he said automatically, lifting his eyes to look up at the victim of his single-mindedness.

 

And…oh. Hello. The person he bumped into is a tall, lanky boy with brown hair down to his shoulders. The first thing Louis saw was a naked expanse of skin at his eye level, where the boy’s sheer shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, gaping open to expose smooth skin and the black ink of several tattoos. The next thing he noticed about the boy, when he managed to continue his eyes’ journey upward, was his dark green eyes, which were peering down at Louis with benign interest. His wavy brown hair was swept back from his face and curled gently around his neck, just brushing his shoulders. He was quite possibly the most beautiful thing Louis has seen in…a while.

 

“Mm, ahem,” Louis cleared his throat, feeling strongly that it was necessary to start over. “So sorry,” he said, reaching out to place a hand on the boy’s arm and squeeze apologetically, and okay, as feminine as his sheer floral top might be, there was nothing feminine about the muscles beneath it, “didn’t see you there. Though I’m not sure how I could’ve missed you…” Louis made sure his voice went low and smooth, almost like a purr. It was a trick he had perfected in the last couple years, since coming out just in time to let Tommo the Tease loose on the unsuspecting male population at his uni.

 

“Not a problem,” the boy murmured, his voice so deep Louis almost fancied he could feel it vibrate all the way to his bicep, which Louis had yet to release. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he looked down at Louis made him feel like the boy was laughing, even though his expression could be more closely described as “smoldering.” Or maybe that was just Louis’ interpretation.

 

At this point, it would have made sense for him to politely shrug off Louis’ hand and excuse himself, but he continued to stand there, so instead Louis moved a step closer, crowding into the boy’s space.

 

“Great performance,” the boy said. “You really brought the house down. Think you singlehandedly gave everyone a second wind for the night.”

 

“Thanks,” Louis grinned at him. Smoldering eyes and compliments? Louis would take it. “Are you going on?” What Louis wouldn’t give to hear what that deep, gravelly voice could do to some Hozier or James Bay. It sent shivers down his back just thinking about it.

 

“No, I’m more of a behind the scenes type, myself.”

 

“Too bad,” said Louis. “You’ve definitely got the rock star, sex symbol look down pat.” He allowed his hand to slip from the boy’s bicep to slide down his back and come to rest, lightly, somewhere near his waist.

 

The boy raised an eyebrow, something like a smirk pulling at his mouth. Whether that was due to Louis’ comment or his hand, Louis wasn’t sure. “Oh?” he said.

 

“Definitely,” Louis affirmed, leaning into him. Subtlety was not really in Louis’ playbook when he was trying to pull. “People would be throwing their panties on stage right and left. Girls…and boys.” Louis watched the boy carefully as he added this last. He didn’t care to waste his time trying to pull a straight boy. As much as he relished a challenge, that was just a dead end. That was one lesson he’d learned quickly.

 

“Boys in panties? Sounds like my fans are a little kinky,” the boy replied. “Maybe I should reconsider.” He was definitely smirking now, and Louis felt wicked and delighted.

 

“There’s always next week,” said Louis. “Though I’m not sure this crowd is wild enough to deliver.”

 

“Disappointed by the lack of panties on stage tonight?”

 

“Thoroughly so. What’s the point of bringing down the house if you don’t get a lay out of it?” Louis looked straight into the boy’s eyes so there could be no doubt as to what he was insinuating. If the boy was interested, Louis had set him up to make that clear.

 

For a moment, the boy just stared back at him. Louis could feel the warmth of his body from where he’d pressed himself up against the boy’s side, and there was a low buzzing in his bones as he waited for the boy to make his move.

 

But the boy just parroted back to him, “As you said, there’s always next week.”

 

It took a beat for the words to sink in. Then Louis took an automatic step back.

 

“Right,” he said. “Well, see you. Better get back to…” He gestured vaguely out toward the rest of the pub.

 

The boy cocked his head slightly. Louis thought it looked like there was a slight crease between his eyebrows, but he wasn’t about to waste time trying to figure out what was going on inside the head of someone who had just rejected him.

 

“Cheers,” Louis said, turning to go.

 

Several feet away, he heard the boy call out, “Nice to meet you” at his retreating back.

 

Louis turned his head to look. The boy was in the same position, leaning against the wall, staring after him.

 

 

—

 

 

Several days later, Louis was sitting in the grass out on the quad, a textbook in his lap that he was only periodically giving attention to. It was one of the last warmish days of fall, when you could still comfortably sit outside in a jumper and a beanie. His phone kept buzzing with texts from Zayn about some hunk who’d wandered into the comic book shop where he worked.

**he’s so muscly..he could be a superhero**

**he’s looking at the batman comics , good taste !**

**spiderman..we’re soulmates**

**he just smiled fuck! i want him to wreck me :\**

ask for his number !

**lou NO i’m a professional**

your a wuss

**he’s coming !!!**

already? that was fast ;)

**dick**

 

It was entertaining, but not all that conducive to studying. Not that Louis was terribly bothered by that.

 

Just as Louis was typing out a teasing and definitely crude response to Zayn, a large figure dropped out of nowhere to land beside him.

 

“Ah!” Louis exclaimed, toppling over in his surprise.

 

“Sorry, sorry!” a deep voice said in a rush, while a firm hand landed on Louis’ arm to steady him.

 

When Louis had regained his balance and enough composure to look over at his new companion, he was surprised to discover it was the boy from the pub. The one who rejected him. Re-situating himself in the grass, he instinctively scooted a couple inches away so that their knees weren’t touching.

 

“Um. Hello?” Louis said. Why did this boy always make him lose any ability for articulate speech?

 

“Hi. So sorry I startled you. I’m not very graceful, sometimes.”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

The boy grinned at him. It was disconcerting. They didn’t know each other. Last time they’d met he’d rejected Louis. What was he smiling about? And for that matter, what was he doing here at all?

 

“Er, how’s it going?”

 

“Alright, you?”

 

“Not bad.”

 

Louis nodded. And continued to nod. “Right,” he said, wishing the boy would either say something or leave. Preferably leave, this was embarrassing.

 

“So do you have a lot of experience? With the singing thing, I mean?” the boy finally asked.

 

“Sort of?” Louis shrugged. “I did a lot of theater in high school. Sometimes we did musicals. That’s about it.”

 

“You’re really good.”

 

“Oh, thanks.” Louis ripped a handful of grass out of the ground between his legs and let it scatter to the wind. “Not really, but thanks.”

 

“I mean it.”

 

When Louis looked up from the grass, the boy was watching him with an earnest expression and Louis could tell that he did mean it. How strange. Had he sought Louis out in the grass just to tell him that?

 

“Well, thanks,” Louis repeated, at a loss.

 

“So, McKenney’s is doing this sort of X-Factor competition starting on Friday,” the boy finally said. “Anyone can sign up, and then the audience eliminates half the participants every week until there’s only one person left.”

 

“Cool, that sounds fun. Maybe I’ll check it out.”

 

“Actually, I was thinking you should enter.”

 

Louis laughed. “Enter? Me?”

 

“Yeah, absolutely.” The boy smiled, seeming bemused.

 

“I don’t think so,” said Louis. “I’m not like…a singer.”

 

“Why not? You’re really good.”

 

“Mate, I’m not that good.”

 

“I disagree.”

 

“What does it matter, anyway?” This was all very flattering, but frankly Louis was starting to get uncomfortable.

 

“I just think you’re really good. People loved you the other night. You must have been able to tell.” He paused. “Also, I work there.”

 

“At McKenney’s?”

 

“Yeah. Kind of a jack-of-all-trades. A bit of bar-tending, a bit of helping with events and stage stuff.”

 

Louis could see that. With the boy’s curls and that irresistible grin that took up half his face, it was easy to picture him charming tips out of customers at the bar by the fistful.

 

“Look,” he said, “just think about it. I think you’d be really good. You saw how rubbish everyone else was last week. Who knows,” he added, “you might even enjoy it.” And then he winked. _Winked_ , honestly.

 

“Alright,” Louis agreed, just because it was easier than continuing to argue.

 

The boy made to stand up, an air of satisfaction about his easy grin as though Louis had already agreed, not just agreed to consider it.

 

“Oh, by the way,” the boy said, adjusting a leather satchel on his shoulder, “what’s your name?”

 

“Louis,” said Louis.

 

“Louis,” the boy repeated, voice curling around the word in a way that made it sound different to Louis’ ears, like the name of someone else. “Pleasure to meet you. My name’s Harry.”

 

He held out his hand for a shake. Louis grasped it, his hand swallowed by Harry’s gigantic paw.

 

“I’ll be seeing you, Louis.” Harry flashed one more ridiculous grin, then walked away. Louis could only stare after him, wondering what the hell just happened.

 

 

\--

 

 

Louis didn’t intend to give Harry’s proposition any thought. He wasn’t a singer, he didn’t want to be a singer, why would he try out for some silly pub competition? That would be dumb. After their conversation in the quad, he fully intended to put it—and Harry—out of his mind. He had other things to focus on. Like classes. And his mates. And… Well, if he was honest, he didn’t have all that much on at the moment. One could even say he was feeling a bit bored, generally.

 

That was his excuse, as he walked into McKenny’s after lunch on Friday, when he figured it would be quiet and no one (Harry) would be around to see him. He was bored, and boredom didn’t sit well with Louis. He did stupid things when he was bored. Like sign up for pub singing contests.

 

The bar was even more deserted than he thought it would be. At first he thought it was empty, but then he heard the clinking of glassware coming from the back. He made his way to the bar somewhat tentatively, glancing around on the lookout for other forms of life (Harry) that might make a sudden appearance.

 

“Hello?” he called out when he reached the bar. The person responsible for the clinking glassware was in the back, but luckily Louis was pretty good at projecting his voice—thank you, high school theater—and they heard. Louis’ stomach fluttered as he listened to the footsteps getting closer, but although the person that emerged was tall, lanky, and dark-haired, it was someone Louis had never met.

 

“How can I help you?” they asked.

 

“I’m actually—I’d like to sign up for that singing thing?”

 

“Right, sure. Just got the list somewhere abouts…” He rummaged under the counter for a moment, finally producing a crinkled sheet of paper. There were about 15 names on it already. “Just add your name at the bottom,” he said, handing Louis a pen. “Do you know yet what you’re going to sing?”

 

“Um…” Louis said, thinking as he scrawled his name. “Do you have Look After You by The Fray?”

 

“We can make that happen, no problem. Just pull audio from YouTube, to be honest. We’re a low-tech operation ‘round ‘ere.”

 

“Very professional,” Louis laughed. “So…what do I do?”

 

“Just be present when you need to sing, really. This isn’t too elaborate, as you can tell,” he said, gesturing to the crinkled sign up sheet. “Just a bit of a laugh, really. We’ll start at 10. If you’re not sure where to go, just ask for Nick—that’s me—or Liam, our tech guy.”

 

“Great,” said Louis. “Cheers.” He lifted his hand in a wave as he turned to go, a low hum of anticipation in his stomach. Okay, so maybe he was a little bit excited. What could he say, he was a slut for attention. Always had been.

 

 

—

 

 

“So,” said Niall, flopping onto the couch later that evening, right on top of where Louis legs were stretched out, actually, earning himself a kick in the arse, “what are we up to tonight, lads?”

 

“Jessie’s having a house party, told me earlier,” said Zayn, who was perched on the counter, nursing a beer.

 

“Sick,” said Niall. “Tommo, you in?”

 

Louis experienced a moment of panic. He hadn’t really thought about what he was going to tell Niall and Zayn. All of a sudden he realized he didn’t want them to know. If they came, they’d make a huge scene when he was performing, hollering and cheering and probably yelling profanities that were only okay in Ireland, knowing Niall. They’d take the piss out of him and he wouldn’t hear the end of it for weeks, maybe ever.

 

“Actually,” Louis cleared his throat. “Actually I think I’m gonna stay in tonight. But you guys go. It’ll be fun.”

 

“Mate, what’s wrong?” asked Niall, immediately concerned. To be fair, it was pretty out of character for Louis to turn down a night out.

 

“Nothing—nothing! Just a bit tired, s’all. Really.”

 

Louis knew it wasn’t the most convincing lie ever told. Zayn was looking at him with narrowed eyes, but he said nothing, and Niall seemed willing enough to accept it. He knew better than to argue with Louis when he’d made his mind up about something, anyway.

 

“So, Zaynie, when are we leaving?”

 

A couple hours later, Louis was sitting at the bar in McKenney’s, sipping a beer and smoothing his hand over his quiff as the first contestant took the stage. He’d checked with Nick when he arrived, and he’d be performing 6th. He was on a mission to consumer as many beers as possible before then. The male-female duo on stage launched into a rendition of ‘XO’ by Beyonce and Louis’ phone vibrated in his pocket. He opened a snapchat from Niall, a picture of Zayn talking to a blonde chick and looking extremely cornered with the caption “look wat ur missing, bro !” and a laughing smiley face. Zayn was into boys exclusively, but he was so beautiful that girls hit on him constantly. One of Louis’ and Niall’s favorite pastimes at parties was laughing at how uncomfortable it made him, and then saving him at the last second. Louis laughed, taking another swig of his beer.

 

By the time Liam—the muscly guy with the cool tat that Louis recognized from the week before—came to tell him he was on deck, Louis had worked up a healthy buzz. He walked confidently to the mic, waiting for the song to start and doing his best not to squint too much into the lights.

 

He got off to less of a rocky start than he had the week before, and thought he was sounding pretty good given he hadn’t rehearsed outside of his shower. He sang the first chorus with his eyes shut, and when he opened them, the lights had shifted and he could actually see into the audience. His eyes were immediately drawn to a tall figure standing in the back. Harry was wearing a fedora on his head tonight, but it did nothing to hide his surprised but undeniably delighted expression. Louis experienced his first butterflies of the night and tried to look away and regain his cool, but his eyes kept gravitating back to Harry, who was now openly beaming at him.

 

The audience erupted in applause again when Louis finished his performance, and he couldn’t keep the shit-eating grin off his face as he left the stage.

 

“Well done, mate,” Liam said as Louis passed by, clapping him on the back.

 

Without consciously deciding to, Louis headed back to the bar, where he’d seen Harry standing. It’s where he’d been sitting before, he reasoned. Plus, that’s where the alcohol was.

 

Harry was still there when Louis arrived.

 

“Hey,” Harry said, eyes lighting up when he spied Louis.

 

“Nice hat,” Louis replied, flicking the fedora’s brim.

 

“Heyyyyyy,” Harry said again, drawing it out in protest this time. He was smiling, though.

 

Louis hopped onto the stool next to where Harry was standing and glanced down the bar toward Nick, catching his attention and signaling him for another beer.

 

“You came,” Harry observed when Louis looked back, doing nothing to hide his pleased, self-satisfied expression.

 

Louis shrugged. “Didn’t have anything else on.”

 

“You were really good,” Harry said, “but I think you know that.”

 

Louis’ lips pursed as he fought a smile. “We’ll see,” he said. “Crowd’s choice, innit?”

 

“You’re not getting voted off,” Harry avowed. “Not a chance.”

 

“Hm. Hopefully I’m not busy next week, in that case.”

 

Harry’s dimple appeared. Louis took a moment to appreciate its versatility. It could come out when Harry was smiling, or smirking, or just pleased, on both sides or just one—it was a very expressive dimple. He kind of wanted to poke it. Maybe later.

 

Nick arrived with Louis’ beer then, sliding it toward him and then leaning forward onto his elbows to address Harry.

 

“Now what about you, young Styles? You’re off-duty tonight, it’s my chance to get you drunk and I intend to take advantage of it.”

 

Harry indulged him with a smile of amusement, saying, “I’ll just have what he’s having,” and gesturing at Louis.

 

Nick stood up again, pouting in a manner that was off-putting for someone his age. “Fine. But I’m getting you something more adventurous later.”

 

Louis watched this exchange with narrowed eyes. He’d liked this Nick character, but something about the way he spoke to Harry made his skin itch.

 

When Nick delivered Harry’s beer, he took a long sip before turning back to Louis, appraising him in a probing, thoughtful way that made Louis want to fidget in his seat.

 

“You know, I was sure you weren’t going to come tonight,” he said.

 

“Really? You seemed pretty sure.”

 

“Nah. Just wanted you to think I was. Hoping it’d trick you into thinking you’d already agreed.”

 

“Excuse me,” Louis put on an affronted tone. “As if I could be so easily tricked by the likes of you.”

 

Harry’s smile made laugh lines appear around his eyes. It made Louis want to say more things that made him smile.

 

“I’m glad you did, though,” Harry said next. His voice was lower, and serious, and he was looking straight into Louis eyes, leaning into Louis’ space. It made Louis’ stomach warm in a way that had nothing to do with the swallow of beer he just gulped down, trying to buy himself a moment before he needed to reply. If Harry hadn’t rejected him only last week, he might almost think that was a line. As it was, Louis wasn’t sure what it was.

 

He was saved from having to reply by someone pushing their way out of the crowd to the bar on Harry’s other side, exclaiming, “Hazza! How’s it going, mate? You working tonight?”

 

While Harry was distracted, Louis finished the last swallow of his beer and slipped down from the stool. Best to make his exit now, he reasoned, before this night got any more confusing. Hovering on the fringes of the room, he stayed long enough to hear his name announced as one of the 10 contestants that would move on to the next round, then headed home to make to back before Niall and Zayn discovered that he hadn’t stayed in after all.

 

 

—

 

 

Louis spent the next week thinking about two things: what he was going sing, and what he was going to tell Niall and Zayn this time. Bowing out of plans two Friday nights in a row was going to raise their suspicions.

 

“I’m gonna go out for a drink with a friend tonight,” he mentioned to Niall that afternoon as they waited for their orders of chips to come up at the fried chicken place down the block from their apartment.

 

“A what?” Niall echoed, incredulous.

 

“A friend,” Louis repeated.

 

“A friend? What friend? Is that code for ‘a lay’?”

 

“No, it’s code for ‘a mate from class’ alright? I do know other people than you and Zayn, you know.”

 

“Alright, alright!” Niall lifted his palms defensively. “Whatever you say. Guess we’ll go out without you, again.”

 

Okay, so it wasn’t the smoothest of covers, but whatever. It got the job done.

 

Niall and Zayn went over to Olly’s place for pizza and FIFA when they got home from their chips run, so Louis practiced his song for the night while he styled his hair. He’d decided to go in a different direction this week, doing a slowed-down version of “Sex” by The 1975, swapping out the “she’s” for “he’s.” It didn’t sound half-bad, if you asked him.

 

As he got dressed, in soft black legging jeans and a red scoop-neck t-shirt that exposed his collarbones and made him feel sexy, he wasn’t thinking at all about the fact that Harry would be there, listening, and that he was pretty sure Harry had to have picked up on his sexual predilections already but singing, “And he said use your hands and my spare time, we've got one thing in common it's this tongue of mine” ought to remove any doubt. No, he was just going over the lyrics in his head. He didn’t actually listen to The 1975 all that often so he’d had to memorize the words and he didn’t want to forget them and embarrass himself.

 

Things were already underway when he arrived. He went straight for the bar, expecting to get a drink from Nick before hunting down Liam to find out what number they were on and when Louis was up. But Nick wasn’t behind the bar tonight. Instead it was Harry, curls pulled up into a perky little bun and attired—if you could call it that—in another sheer top unbuttoned nearly to his navel, exposing the top of a large tummy tat.

 

“Lou,” Harry said in greeting when Louis approached.

 

“Haz,” Louis replied, the nickname he’d heard Harry’s friend call him last week slipping out. He feared for a second that it might be weird, but Harry didn’t react other than to smile warmly, so he figured it was fine. “Got your tits out, I see. Fishing for tips? Bloody shameless,” he teased, eyes narrowing in on the steep slope of Harry’s gaping shirt.

 

“My eyes are up here, mate.”

 

“Haha,” Louis said, absently acknowledging Harry’s joke. “What is this, if you don’t mind me asking?” he asked, leaning over the bar and using a finger to pull the material of Harry’s shirt even more open to reveal the tattoo.

 

“A butterfly.”

 

“A butterfly? Harold, are you kidding me? A butterfly?”

 

When Louis looked up from Harry’s stomach—it was quite a complex tattoo okay, it was a lot to take in—he found Harry smirking at him.

 

“What’s wrong with a butterfly?”

 

“S’kinda dumb, innit?”

“I dunno. I like it.” Harry shrugged. “I suppose you’d only get badass tats yourself, huh?”

 

“Of course. Something’s going on my skin, it’s not gonna be something a second-grade girl would pick.”

 

Louis was trying to be deadpan, but Harry’s “Heyyyyy” of protest was too endearing for him not to break into a smile.

 

“Do you have any tattoos?” Harry asked.

 

“You’d like to know, would you?” Louis raised an eyebrow.

 

It was hard to tell in the darkness of the bar and Louis definitely had a weakness for wishful thinking, but he thought Harry’s cheeks flushed at that. He didn’t look away though.

 

“Hey!” a guy next to Louis interrupted, before Harry could reply. “If you’d stop flirting for one second, I could use a refill here.” And, wow. Rude much?

 

“Sorry, sorry,” said Harry, finally breaking eye contact and hastening to take the guy’s pint glass. “On the house,” he said, sliding it back.

 

The guy harrumphed but walked away without another rude comment.

 

“Whoops,” Harry said, turning back to Louis with a sheepish expression. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

 

“It’s okay, I should probably go find Liam and figure out when I’m on anyway.”

 

“Oh, right. You want anything? Liquid courage?”

 

“I’ll take a Carlsberg, but it better be on the house. I was at the bar for five full minutes before you offered to serve me,” Louis mock-complained.

 

“Of course,” Harry replied. “I apologize about the quality of the service tonight. Somebody was distracting me.”

 

Louis was grateful that he had to focus on finding Liam and mentally preparing for his performance because it felt an awful lot like Harry was flirting with him and he wasn’t sure how to interpret that.

 

He was slated second to last that night, so he hung around the stage talking to Liam in between the other performers while he waited for his turn. He quickly discovered that for all his manliness and authority, Liam’s feathers were pretty easy to ruffle, so Louis set about ruffling as many of them as he could in the time before he was called on stage. It was an effective way to dispel the nervous energy that was gathering in his muscles. He hadn’t been so nervous the first two times he’d gone up on that stage, but tonight he felt more aware that he had an audience and, if he was honest, was starting to care about how he did. He wanted to give a good performance.

 

Louis bounced on the balls of his feet while Liam introduced him and felt a spike of adrenaline as he went up to the mic and the opening chords played.

“And this is how it starts,” he sang, starting out quiet and a little raspy, “you take your shoes off in the back of your van.”

 

When he got to the line, “All we seem to do is talk about sex,” Louis allowed himself to look over to the bar. Harry was holding a rag and a glass was standing still, mouth slightly agape. And if Louis kind of serenaded Harry for the rest of the song, well, it was helpful to have an anchor to look at. It helped ground your performance.

 

Because he’d gone toward the end, Louis didn’t have very long to wait for the results that night. After Liam had announced the five people who would move on to the final round the following week—Louis was one of them—Louis hung around, pestering him while he put the equipment away.

 

“Don’t you have something else to do?” Liam asked him, annoyed.

 

“Nope,” Louis replied happily. “Came alone, don’t know anyone. Lucky you.”

 

Liam sighed. Then his eyes landed on something over Louis’ shoulder and he perked up.

 

“Haz!” he said, “Just the man for the job. Take this nuisance off my hands so I can get out of here before midnight.” He spun Louis around and pushed him forward so that Louis stumbled into Harry, who had evidently snuck up behind him. Harry caught him by the waist, with Louis’ hands gripping his bicep and braced against his chest. Louis looked up and found Harry looking down at him.

 

“Oops,” he said.

 

“Hi,” said Harry.

 

They were still standing pressed together. If Harry wasn’t going to push him away, Louis didn’t care to move.

 

“So,” said Louis, “how was I?”

 

Harry’s hands tightened on his waist. He leaned down to speak into Louis’ ear, to be heard over the music, which Liam had cranked back up after the performances were over. “Fucking awesome,” he said. “I love The 1975.”

 

His voice was gruff, and his breath tickled the hairs on Louis’ neck. Louis tried not to shiver.

 

“Wow,” Louis breathed. “That good, huh?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied, and Louis could feel his voice more than hear it. His heart was speeding up in his chest and he wondered if Harry could feel it. He decided to pull back before he did something to give himself away.

 

Before Louis could think about what to do next, he heard someone call out, “Lou!”

 

He looked around for the source just as a blonde head pushed between a couple grinding next to them. Niall reached him first, but Zayn was in tow right behind him. Louis’ first reaction was excitement before he could process the fact that _they were not supposed to be here, fuck._

 

“What are you doing here?” Louis said, standing stiff while Niall jumped on him in a rough hug.

 

“Decided to stop for a drink on the way home! What are YOU doing here? Is this your friend you got drinks with?” Niall said this last while looking at Harry.

 

“Er,” said Louis.

 

“What’s your name?” Niall asked Harry.

 

“Harry,” said Harry, giving Louis a bemused look.

 

“What class do you have with Louis?”

 

“I don’t have a class with Louis,” Harry said, before Louis could signal him to go with it.

 

“How do you know him then? Dating site? GRINDR? I KNEW you’re on Grindr, Tommo!”

 

Harry was openly laughing now. This was a disaster.

 

“Niall!” Louis broke in before this could go any further. “Sorry,” he said to Harry. “Harry, please meet my lovely flatmates, Niall and Zayn.”

 

Niall couldn’t contain his curiosity enough to be polite before he got answers. “Seriously, who is this, Louis? What’s the deal?”

 

“Do they not know?” said Harry.

 

“Know what?”

 

“Nothing!” Louis exclaimed, and the same time that Harry said, “Louis is competing in McKenney’s X-Factor.”

 

“Competing? X-Factor? Louis?!” Niall’s head was imploding, maybe.

 

“It’s just a dumb pub game thing,” said Louis. “It’s not a big deal.”

 

“It’s only sorta like X-Factor,” Harry explained. “People sing, then we eliminate half the contestants every week.”

 

Niall rounded on Louis. “You’re doing X-Factor,” he said, “and you didn’t TELL US?”

 

“S’not X-Factor!” Louis protested, but Niall was already swatting him.

 

“You massive twat!” Niall yelled. “What the fuck!” But Louis could tell he was more excited than he was angry.

 

“So what, has he been eliminated yet?” Zayn asked, finally speaking up.

 

“No way, are you kidding?” said Harry. “He’s great. Probably the best.”

 

This was excruciating and Louis didn’t have nearly enough alcohol in his system to handle it.

 

“’Course he is,” Niall said fondly, always a sucker to hear his friends admired, before remembering he was supposed to be indignant. “I can’t believe you, Tommo! When’s the next round?”

 

“Next week,” Harry supplied, having now picked up that this was something Louis was embarrassed about and taking way too much pleasure out of making him suffer. Louis glared at him.

 

“We’re coming,” Niall declared. “And you can’t stop us.”

 

Zayn nodded his agreement.

 

“That’s settled then. Now, we need drinks.”

 

As Niall grabbed Louis by the arm and began to pull him through the crowd, Louis turned back to hiss to Harry, “Traitor. You owe me a drink for this, Harold.” Harry just smirked back, the little shit.

 

 

—

 

 

So, this was a thing now. Niall and Zayn knew, and they spent the entirety of the next week bugging Louis about his song choice, requesting to hear him practice, and asking him questions about Harry.

“So…Louis,” Niall said, sashaying into Louis’ room on Sunday afternoon and scooting up next to him in bed. “Who is this Harry, hmm?”

 

Louis kept his eyes on the textbook he was reading, hoping if he gave Niall as little attention as possible he might go away. “He works at McKenney’s.”

 

“He works there, huh? So what, he was the hot bartender and exactly the tall drink of water you needed to quench your thirst?” He waggled his eyebrows. “He is actually very tall…”

 

“Ugh, Niall, no. We haven’t hooked up. We just chat a bit after the performances, I don’t know.”

 

“Lewis,” Niall whined. “You’re being no fun.”

 

“I’m studying, Niall. You know, for class? Besides, there’s nothing to tell.”

 

“I don’t believe you,” Niall pouted.

 

Louis rolled his eyes. “Fine, don’t believe me.”

 

And that was one of the less annoying conversations about it. He wasn’t lying…there _wasn’t_ anything to tell. Sure, maybe he was leaving out the part where he would happily jump Harry’s bones and thought his dorky sense of humor and dumb dimples were so endearing it made him die a little bit inside, but that wasn’t really Niall’s business anyway.

 

Louis was impenetrable when it came to info about Harry, but they did succeed in getting him to reveal his song choice—thanks to Zayn, that sneaky prick. Niall had been bugging Louis about it all week and Louis had gotten used to shutting down his vociferous and aggressive pestering, so when Zayn dropped the question casually one night while they were all lying around the living room studying, it slipped past Louis’ automatic defenses and he answered without thinking, “Talking Body.”

 

Niall immediately leaped up, whooped, and gave Zayn a high five.

 

“You fuckers!” Louis swore as soon as his brain caught up with his mouth and he realized what he’d done.

 

Niall cackled while Zayn laughed silently. Louis sank back into the couch, sighing.

 

“You say there’s nothing going on with you and Harry but you’re singing a song like _that_?” Niall said when he’d calmed down from his rush of victory. “Suuuure, Tommo. You’re banging him, or you want to. You’re about as subtle as morning wood.”

 

Louis did not deign this with a response. He huffed and stood up, shutting his textbook with a clap. “I’ll be in my room,” he said. “Where I can study in peace without being attacked by my so-called friends.”

 

After that, Louis took to avoiding his flatmates for the rest of the week, practicing only when he knew they were out at class and staying in the library until late at night so he could get any work done at all. He did worry what they might get into their heads to prepare for Friday night without his presence to deter them, but it was a risk he was willing to take in order to avoid their constant pestering.

 

They made themselves suspiciously scarce Friday evening before Louis left, but Louis was too wound up to give it much thought, taking extra time styling his fringe and trying on several different outfits before settling on black jeans rolled up at the ankles, a short-sleeve black button-down done up to the last button, and a pair of white-striped black Adidas. He admired his ass in the mirror one last time, then headed out.

 

Zayn and Niall were nowhere to be seen when Louis arrived, but he knew better than to think they decided not to come. He saw Harry over by the bar—chatting to Nick, ugh—but the idea of talking to him made Louis feel too jittery, so he bypassed him and made his way straight to the stage.

 

“Hey mate,” Liam said in greeting.

 

They exchanged a brief bro-hug as Louis replied, “Hey.”

 

“I put you last tonight,” Liam said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I hope that’s okay. Between you and me you’ve got this in the bag, so I thought you should close the show.”

 

Louis just nodded, a manic smile on his face.

 

The other four performances went by in a blur. Louis didn’t even register what any of them sang, and then it was his turn. Stepping up to the mic, the first thing he noticed was two luminescent signs in the front row, outfitted with actual blinking lights that read, “We love Louis” with a pink flashing heart. Where Zayn and Niall found portable LED lights, Louis had no idea. He flashed them the bird and crossed his eyes at them, hearing Niall’s characteristic cackle. But then the music started, and his flatmates were the last thing on his mind.

 

Tonight he didn’t bother with any pretense of singing to the crowd. He hunted Harry down in the audience and locked eyes with him before he even sang the first line. Dropping his voice to sing, “The feeling of your skin locked in my head,” sent electric energy coursing through his veins. Deaf to the noise of the crowd and with blinders on to anything that wasn’t Harry, staring fixedly at him, he let the song and sensation and adrenaline take over and move his body. By the chorus, he was sliding up and down and grinding on the pole of the microphone stand. When the song came to the end, he licked his lips, maintaining eye contact with Harry until the music stopped and the sounds of the audience came rushing back in.

 

Liam came striding out on stage. “And that’s it for McKenney’s first X-Factor!” he announced, to the crowds cheers. “As always, vote on Twitter with the hashtag ‘McKennysXF’. We’ll tally your votes and announce the winner at midnight!”

 

Louis followed Liam off stage, feeling slightly dazed, but buzzing. Zayn and Niall were waiting for him in the wings, wrapping him in a sweaty hug and shoving a shot glass into his hand, which Niall promptly refilled after they’d downed the first round. They wound up on the dance floor, dancing like idiots to Shut Up and Dance and Watch Me with coordinated dance moves they’d come up with their first year at uni together.

 

After a few songs, the music took a turn, transitioning into Drunk In Love. Louis slowed his movements, feeling the music and alcohol course through his body, fighting the instinct to start grinding his hips because that wasn’t exactly how one danced with the lads. Then a large hand slid onto his waist from behind, and a mouth by his neck said, in a voice he knew immediately even over the volume of the music and packed dance floor, “Hey, Lou.”

 

Harry’s breath was hot against Louis’ neck, his mouth barely an inch from his skin. Louis sighed and leaned back into Harry’s warm body and Harry used his grip on Louis’ waist to tug him backwards until his arse was flush against Harry’s thighs. Louis let go of the resistance he’d put up when he was with Niall and Zayn—who he’d immediately forgotten the minute Harry touched him, oops?—and let the music and alcohol move his hips in slow circles against Harry, reveling in the feeling of Harry pressed firmly against his arse, moving with him. Louis’ head fell backward onto Harry’s shoulder and he raised a hand to twine into Harry’s curls and grip his neck. Harry’s hands palmed Louis’ waist and tummy. He dipped his head and nuzzled into Louis neck, opening his mouth so that his lips pressed hotly into the hollow behind Louis’ ear. Louis’ breath caught and he pressed more firmly back into Harry’s crotch, finding Harry’s cock stiffening inside his jeans. Louis’ eyes fell shut and he lost himself in the sensory overload of music and movement, Harry’s body pressed flush against him and his hot mouth moving on Louis’ skin, making Louis squirm.

 

He wasn’t sure how much time passed or how many songs they danced to like that, but all of a sudden the music transitioned abruptly to the latest Taylor Swift single that Louis hated and it pulled him out of his trance-like state. As though someone had turned the lights on, he was suddenly all too aware that he was grinding wantonly against a boy who had rejected him not three weeks ago. He stopped dancing and pulled away from Harry, untangling their limbs. The rush of air between them where seconds before there had only been body-to-body raised goose bumps on his skin.

 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked. His eyes looked unfocused and his cheeks flushed.

 

“I—I need a smoke, some, some air.”

 

Before Harry could reply, Louis turned and pushed his way off the dance floor, making a beeline for the backdoor to the smoking area. Outside, the night air hit him like cold water poured over his head and he felt his senses clear. Oh god. What was that? What had come over him, making such blatant moves on Harry like that? He’d probably come over to congratulate him on his performance like always and put his hand on Louis’ waist just to get his attention in the crowd, and Louis had—had basically _jumped_ him. Oh god.

 

Louis fumbled in his back pocket for his cigarettes. He really did need a smoke, now. He got the cigarette lit on the second try, his hands shaking slightly, and took a deep drag. After a few more drags, the shaking subsides and Louis is starting to feel calmer when the door opens letting out a brief burst of noise before someone stepped out and it huffed shut behind them. Louis glanced over at the person and froze, his stomach dropping.

 

“Hey,” Harry said, saving Louis from having to speak first. “What’s wrong?”

 

Louis preoccupied himself with bringing the cigarette to his lips to avoid having to look at Harry. “You didn’t have to come out here,” he said.

 

Harry shook his head, almost to himself. “I don’t understand.”

 

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to…do me any favors or—or be nice to me, just because…”

 

“Because of what?”

 

Louis shrugged. He could feel his cheeks heating.

 

“Lou, I don’t understand.” Harry took several steps forward that brought him right up to Louis, causing Louis to instinctively step backward, until his back hit the wall. He tried looking into Harry’s face to read what was there, but that entailed looking up and Harry was standing so close and it just made Louis feel…vulnerable. He stared at Harry’s chest instead, noticing absently that the two swallows tattooed under his collarbones each had eyebrows.

 

“Um.” Louis cleared his throat. “Never mind. Let’s go back inside.” He made to push past Harry, but Harry stopped him with a hand on the shoulder and gently pushed him back against the wall. He left his hand there.

 

 

“No, come on. Tell me.” Why did Harry have to be so big? Why did his eyes have to be so green, and expressive? Why were his lips to pink? It was distracting. It made Louis blood simmer.

 

“Fine!” he exclaimed. “Because you rejected me, okay? You don’t have to make me spell it out for you, on top of it. You rejected me, and I respect that. I don’t want you to think I don’t get it.”

 

Harry stared at him for a moment, and then laughed, eyes crinkling and body bending slightly at the waist. Affronted, Louis crossed his arms and watched with a blank expression.

 

“Are you quite finished?” he prompted after a minute. “If you’re done laughing the mere idea of being with me, I’d like to go back inside now.”

 

“No, no,” Harry said, catching his breath. “That’s not at it at all. Oh, shit. Sorry. I don’t mean to laugh. It’s just that you were so—serious. And so clueless!”

 

Louis raised an eyebrow. He did not like being left in the dark while already feeling like a fool.

 

“Lou,” Harry said. “I did _not_ reject you. Are you talking about the night we first met? The open mic?”

 

Louis nodded stiffly.

 

“Yeah, I was ready to drag you into the toilets then and there. After you came out of nowhere and shut down the stage with that Bublé song, shameless and sincere and talented as hell? Fuck. But I could tell you were really drunk and…if I’m honest, I was already kind of smitten. I didn’t want just to have a quick and dirty shag with you.”

 

“Um…” Louis head was spinning a little, between the alcohol and the dancing and the cigarette and trying to process this new information, “what?”

 

Harry grinned, dimples on full display. “I’m not being nice to you, Louis. I like you. Can’t you tell?” With that, he canted his hips forward, pressing his still-persisting semi into Louis’ hip and biting his lower lip because he was a massive dork and also massively irresistible.

 

“Oh,” said Louis, dumbly.

 

“Yeah,” said Harry, still grinning.

 

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, Louis very conscious that he was currently being pressed into a wall by Harry’s semi-hard dick in a public alleyway behind McKenney’s and if anything he wished the situation would quickly become even more compromising.

 

Harry began to lean down and Louis automatically angled his face up to meet him, heart picking up pace in his chest, but then Harry bypassed his mouth and leaned in to whisper into Louis’ ear, “Liam will be announcing the winners any minute. You should get back inside.” When he pulled back he was smirking. The dick.

 

“Right,” said Louis curtly.

 

Harry finally stepped back, allowing Louis to pass him by and trailing him back inside just in time to hear, “…and the winner of McKenney’s first X-Factor competition is…Louis Tomlinson!”

 

“Called it,” Harry said into his ear before Louis was swept up in a tide of well-wishing audience members and fairly carried toward the stage.

 

When he got up on stage and Liam had calmed the crowd down into some semblance of order, Liam presented him with a small wooden box. Inside was a plastic metal star emblazoned with the words, “You’re a STAR!”

 

“Gee, thanks,” Louis said, careful that only Liam—whose face was crinkled up in laughter—could hear him. Into the microphone, he said, “This is such an honor. I’d like to thank my mum for the genetic perfection that gave me my voice, my flatmates Niall and Zayn for getting me so drunk three weeks ago that I thought singing on stage would be a good idea, and…Harry for actually taking me seriously. Thanks.” He hoisted his trophy box in the air in a wave and exited the stage.

 

After the excitement of the contest was over, people were starting to head home in packs, and in the chaos Louis couldn’t find Harry in time to say goodbye before Niall and Zayn kidnapped him back to their flat for celebratory drinks. It wasn’t until a of couple beers and three and a half reenactments of Louis’ winning performance—to delighted catcalls and laughter—when Louis was back in his room alone, that he opened the trophy box again.

 

When he picked the star up to take a closer look, a small piece of paper fluttered to the floor. He picked it up and on it found a phone number scrawled in slanted, curling handwriting. Heart in his throat, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed.

 

“Hello?” Harry’s voice over the phone, its gruffness made slightly crackly by the connection, was an experience Louis might actually pay money for.

 

“So, I was thinking,” Louis said, without preamble. “You never properly congratulated me on my win.”

 

“I suppose I didn’t. What should I do? I could say congratulations now.”

 

“You could,” Louis agreed. “Or, you could come over and tell me in person.”

 

There one beat where Louis panicked that he had yet again read the situation wrong, and then Harry said in a rush, “Text me your address.”

 

Harry lived nearby, as it turned out, but even still Louis was impressed that it took him less than ten minutes to get to Louis’ flat.

 

“You didn’t run, did you?” Louis asked as he let Harry in.

 

“No,” Harry said, acting affronted. “Of course not.”

 

Louis peered at him. He didn’t seem winded. And he did have awfully long legs.

 

“Shh,” he said. “Follow me, but be quiet. Niall and Zayn are in Zayn’s room playing FIFA.”

 

“Ooh, FIFA? I love FIFA,” said Harry.

 

Louis stopped walking to give him a look. “Harold. Why are you here. Focus.”

 

Harry grinned, half sheepish, half teasing. “Right.”

 

Louis pulled Harry inside his room and shut the door behind them. Harry took one look around the space, then picked Louis up—how could he do that, so easily like Louis weighed nothing, more gracefully than he did most basic human things like walking—and tossed him onto his bed so he landed on his back. And then he knelt on the bed and crawled his way up so he was suspended over Louis.

 

“So,” he said. “Why exactly _am_ I here?”

 

Louis rolled his eyes. “You idiot,” he said, pulling Harry down by the neck until their mouths met in a heated kiss.

 

Harry’s lips were plush, pliant, and responsive, opening eagerly to Louis tongue. He pushed his knee between Louis thighs and cupped his bum with both palms to pull their bodies closer together. Having already gotten so wound up on the dance floor earlier, Louis got hard quickly and they were soon rutting into each other. Harry broke away from Louis mouth to kiss across his face and down onto his neck, moving down until he reached Louis’ collarbones where he sucked and licked until it was sure to leave a mark. When he bit the now-sensitive spot, Louis bucked up into him.

 

“Ha-Harry,” he panted. “I want to suck you off—fuck you properly—but, I think, I’m too—“

 

Harry put a hand over Louis’ mouth to stop him from talking and slid farther down Louis’ body until he reached his crotch, where he proceeded to mouth over Louis’ dick, getting the material damp while staring up at Louis. In his wound up state, the sight was enough to put Louis over the edge and a new damp spot formed in his jeans while Harry continued to mouth at Louis’ twitching cock as he came.

 

“God, Lou,” Harry said when Louis was done. “That was even hotter than I thought.”

 

“Come here,” Louis said, pulling at Harry’s shirt so he could kiss him again. Then he flipped them over so that he was on top and had better control to start massaging Harry’s bulge, giving what was probably his first over-the-pants hand job since high school. There was something erotic about being so impatient they couldn’t even wait to get their clothes off. And Louis could tell even through his jeans that Harry was big. The thought of getting his hands—and his mouth—on him for real made Louis’ mouth water and he had to swallow hard. He sat up so he was straddling Harry and began to grind his bum down on Harry’s crotch. Harry’s hands rose to grasp his waist and hold him fast, grinding up to meet him. Soon he was groaning and Louis could feel him pulsing beneath him. When Harry’s body went limp, Louis swung his leg over and laid down next to him.

 

For a few moments they lay there, tangled up together. Then Harry stirred and said. “Gotta pee, be right back.”

 

“Oh, very sexy,” Louis called out after him. “You do know just what to say to woo a boy.” But he grinned into his pillow while Harry was gone, reliving their rushed tryst and already plotting what he would do to Harry as soon as he recovered.

 

When Harry got back, he stripped to his boxers and climbed in under the covers.

 

“I should apologize,” Louis said.

 

Harry’s brows furrowed. “For what?”

 

“You said you didn’t want this to be quick and dirty. And look at us.”

 

“Ah, I’m not worried,” Harry said, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I know it’ll happen again in the morning, and then we can take our time.”

 

“Do you now?” Louis raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t even offered for you to stay over yet.”

 

“No,” said Harry happily. “But Niall already invited me to stay for breakfast. Now roll over, I like to be little spoon.”


End file.
